28. Amalia
In the weeks that follow, I settle into a routine between the university, Silas’s apartment, and home.
Lupe is caught up with Alek these days and we don’t see each other as much, but how can I say anything when I know I’ve been putting Silas first too?
I pause when the word relationship surfaces in my mind, realizing we’ve never actually defined what we are.
We always cook together, always have something to drink afterward (him tea, me hot chocolate), and we talk. He built me an Excel spreadsheet of hot chocolate brands, and by the end of the week, we had a winner based on calculated averages.
I feel guilty that at school I can’t smile at him the way I want to, can’t move as freely around him, but in the evenings we have those hours that belong entirely to us.
There’s still so much I don’t know about him.
A few weeks ago a friend of his ended up in the hospital, and he’s been a little distant.
I don’t know much about his family, and I can feel that certain subjects are tender ground, so I’ll let him decide when the right moment is to tell me about his past.
My programming project has started generating some results, and even though the accuracy still needs work, it’s a starting point.
The moment the bell rings marking the end of the day, I can barely contain my eagerness to get to La Condesa.
The walk to Silas’s building always settles something in me. I have to cut through the park to reach it, and by the time I arrive, whatever tension the day left behind is mostly gone.
The moment he opens the door, I can tell something is weighing on him. His eyes are slightly distant. He always looks a little surprised when he finds me at his door, like he never quite expects me to show up, and I’ll admit, I’ve become a little obsessed with that look.
After a brief kiss, he turns back toward the kitchen.
“Silas, did something happen?”
He stops mid-chop, exhaling slowly.
“I have to leave the city tomorrow for three days,” he tells me quickly.
I look at him, mildly surprised because, well, it’s sudden. But what I can’t understand is why it seems to be weighing on him this heavily.
“Does it have to do with your family?” I ask quietly.
He looks at me, and I wish I could read him better because I could swear there’s guilt in his eyes, and I don’t understand why. It’s completely normal for him to want to spend time with them.
“Yes,” he finally answers, and he comes toward me. “Will you stay here while I’m gone?”
The question catches me off guard because I’ve never stayed the night and I don’t understand why he suddenly wants me here, especially when he won’t be.
“Silas, are you sure everything’s alright?”
“I just want to know you’re safe. The building has an excellent security system. Please...”
And it’s exactly that, the please, so vulnerable, so unlike him, that makes me nod even though I don’t fully understand the reason.
“Promise me you’ll explain what’s going on here at some point,” I tell him, tapping his temple three times with my index finger.
A smile takes over his face.
“I’m afraid not even all the formulas in the world could help you with that.”
“That’s fine. I’ve always liked testing theories. I’ll find one that works.”
I kiss him softly, taking my time with it because I won’t see him for seventy-two hours and I can already feel my heart contracting painfully at that realization.
I’ve gotten used to his presence, and even on evenings when I’m not here, I see him at the university, which makes the distance bearable. This is different.
His hands settle on my lower back and pull me closer. Because I’m emotional, because he has never once pushed past the limits I set, because I already miss him, I reach for the hem of his black T-shirt and pull it up.
The look on his face is one of surprise, and it always does something to my confidence when I manage to render him speechless.
My hands explore every inch of his abdomen and arms — the arms that have filled every fantasy I’ve had over the past several weeks. The definition of him, the warmth of his skin under my palms, the way the muscle shifts when I move my hands.
I press my lips to his neck and his hands find my hair, pulling it loose from its bun. He swallows, and with a voice roughened at the edges, he says, “Amalia, fuck, baby, you know those mathematicians you’re always referencing?”
“Mhm,” I tell him between kisses pressed to his jaw, his neck, his chest.
“If you don’t stop, not a single theorem of theirs is going to help me keep my hands to myself.”
“Good,” I say, smiling against his skin, continuing, “because I don’t want you to.”
That’s the last sentence I manage before he picks me up and carries me to the bedroom.
If I were more coherent, I’d take a moment to appreciate how perfectly the room suits him, the low bed with its dark wood frame, one deep forest green wall behind it, furniture that looks like it was chosen carefully over time rather than bought all at once.
But I am anything but coherent right now.
Every nerve ending, every receptor in my body is entirely focused on the man who is kissing me like he intends to make me forget my own name.
His hands push my blouse up and over my head, and normally I’d be paralyzed with self-consciousness standing in front of someone in just a bra. But when I see his eyes, dark and full and stunned with wanting, I’m the one who reaches back and unclasps it myself.
I watch as he takes in every inch of my skin like he’s looking at something rare. The feeling in my chest triples.
He’s staring and saying absolutely nothing, and even though I know the curve of me works in my favor, the silence starts planting doubts.
I take his face in my hands, and his eyes finally find mine.
“Silas, talk to me.”
He takes my hand and presses it flat against his chest, where his heart is pounding violently. I know mine isn’t steady either, but I look at him with a quiet question in my eyes.
“I don’t know why I can’t control my reaction when it comes to you,” he says quietly.
And only then do I understand. He’s overwhelmed, genuinely overwhelmed, and he has no idea what to do with it.
“Then stop trying to control everything, baby.”
Something in those words registers somewhere deep in him, because in the next moment he’s above me and I can feel our hearts almost in sync, both of them galloping at an alarming rate.
Our hands want to touch everything at once, and when my fingers reach the waistband of his trousers, I don’t hesitate to pull them down.
“Are you sure?” he murmurs against my lips.
“One hundred percent.”
My pants follow immediately after his, and only when there’s nothing left between our bodies do I fully understand what’s about to happen. I wait for at least a trace of panic to stop me.
It doesn’t come.
All I feel is the need to pull him closer, so I do. His erection presses against my thigh, and the sounds that leave me make my impatience embarrassingly obvious.
His dark hair is disheveled from my fingers, and his hands move slowly over my chest and down my stomach. The contrast between his ring-adorned fingers and my skin is enough to give me material for every night he won’t be beside me.
“Damn it, Amalia.”
His head drops to kiss me, and with one hand he gently parts my thighs, giving himself access.
His fingers begin to move against me, and every sigh and quiet plea I make is swallowed immediately by his mouth. I can feel how wet I am, slick all the way to my inner thighs, and even though I know it’s a perfectly normal physiological response, my cheeks flush a shade deeper.
He applies gentle pressure, easing one finger in, until he meets resistance. A vein in his throat tightens, and I officially have a new obsession.
His mouth moves between my lips, the base of my throat, and my chest, and the satisfaction that crosses his face every time he pulls a moan from me is something I want to preserve forever.
His eyes are fixed on the place where his fingers are making me lose my mind, pressing lightly, learning me with a patience that makes my spine arch off the mattress.
At some point the pressure building low in my belly becomes almost unbearable, so I pull his head toward me and bite his lip. I’m close, and even though I don’t say it out loud, he’s clearly read it in the way my body has gone taut.
His gaze moves to my face, and I wish I could see myself right now, because the way he’s looking at me, pure adoration, pure disbelief, makes my chest ache.
“I can’t wait to feel you grip me the way you’re gripping my fingers.”
The mouth on this man will be my undoing.
His voice is low and rough, and the muscles of his back tighten as he fights to hold himself back from pushing inside me right now.
He reaches toward the nightstand and pulls out a condom, sheathing himself in one quick, practiced motion.
His length pulses against my center and my thighs have already started to tremble. Silas positions himself between my legs, and the moment my back arches slightly off the mattress and the orgasm moves through me like lightning, he enters me in one swift motion.
His mouth is there to catch the sound I make, and I know I’m leaving marks on his back with my nails.
His body goes still, holding exactly there, and I’m grateful for it, grateful he’s giving me time to adjust to him, to the overwhelming fullness of it.
“Amalia, baby, you’re not breathing,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Is that all of it?”
A short chuckle escapes him before he answers.
“Not even half, baby. But we can stop, Amalia. Say the word.”
Every muscle in my body is locked and I know I need to relax, at least to try, but I can’t seem to make myself.
After a few seconds, his hands cup my face.
“Amalia. I need you to open your eyes.”
I open one eye, then the other, and I feel my body release a fraction of its tension just from looking at him. Those dark eyes hold something luminous in them, and I know I’m responsible for that particular light.